Memoirs of a Mage: Wynneth Hawke
by thievinghippo
Summary: Stories, prompt fics and drabbles involving Wynneth Hawke, diplomatic mage. Anders/Hawke will be the focus, but others will show up occasionally.


"Do you resent me?"

Hawke watched Anders' brow furrow slightly at the unexpected question as the sounds of gentle strumming from the lute ceased. A moment passed, then two, causing Hawke's stomach to clench. His silence answered her question.

"Why do you ask?" he said, finally looking up from the lute. One hand ran through his hair, not held back by its usual strip of leather for once.

They had been relaxing in her - _their?_ - chambers in the manor, after a full day of being apart. Anders at his clinic and Hawke dealing with Hubert and hammering out details of their new partnership. After a quiet supper together in the kitchen, they retired to the bedroom instead of the library, partially to avoid Leandra, who answered letters at her writing desk.

Hawke even convinced Anders to take a night off from working on his manifesto. Instead, he picked up the lute, claiming he played a little, though Hawke quickly realized he hadn't underestimated his ability for modesty's sake.

But the badly played music gave her time to think as she curled up on the bed, watching him play. Well, allowed her to think when she could keep herself from gazing at his nimble fingers and just how well acquainted with them she had become over the past few weeks.

She took a breath and gathered her courage. "During supper, when Mother came in for some water and we spoke for a moment…" Her voice trailed off as she wetted her lips, unsure now, that she wanted to actually finish the thought. But she charged on. Better to know than to wonder. "She mentioned my father and the look on your face…"

His eyes closed and Hawke could almost see the war brewing within him, not wanting to hurt her yet not wanting to lie. "Sometimes, Maker help me," Anders said, his voice soft and pained, as he bowed his head. "Sometimes I do."

Gently taking the lute from his hands, Hawke said, "There are times I wonder what it would be like. Perhaps I would have more empathy—"

She didn't imagine the bright tint of blue in Anders' eyes as he cut her off. "As long as I draw breath, you will never step one foot in the Circle."

The intensity of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. She took Anders' hand in hers and lay back on the bed, her legs swinging freely over the side. "So you would not see me there, but…"

Hawke watched as he sighed - a silent one, encompassing his entire body - before settling next to her, laying on his side. With his free hand, he ran his fingers through her hair, down from its usual bun. She had gotten into the habit of wearing her hair down when she and Anders were alone.

His fingers gently scraped across her scalp, and she couldn't help but lean into his hand. An early lesson she had learned about Anders was just how important touch meant to him. Every time they were alone he reached for her, holding her hand or pulling her into his lap. Hawke had theories, but they spoke only once of his year-long solitary confinement in the Circle and the look on his face had made her not want to bring up the subject again.

"I know you're not without hardships, but it seems like life has been so easy for you," Anders said. "You have a family…" His eyes darted to the embroidered pillow his mother gave him, sitting on an overstuffed chair. He brought the delicate pillow to her manor for safekeeping only after a few nights together. It amazed Hawke that it had survived seven escape attempts, not to mention the siege of Amaranthine and the voyage to Kirkwall. A pained look crossed Anders' face as he leaned down, brushing his lips again her neck. "Those words were unkind, Hawke… I'm sorry."

_Templars! Into the forest, Winnie, as fast as you can. Climb a tree and don't come down until we tell you!_

There didn't seem to be much point in trying to correct him. This wasn't a contest, which of them had suffered more because of their magic, though she had no doubt he would win such a bout.

She wondered if she could help him understand her own experiences. Her magic had manifested early, fire and ice, leaving her with blisters and the occasionally bout of frost bite. Bethany had it easier, with her healing spells. Hawke became her father's favorite teaching method, telling Bethany to heal Hawke's burns. He didn't care that she was hurting; it was more important to him that Bethany practice.

"I wish…" Her voice trailed off. She wished many things. She wished Anders had a father who hadn't feared him, whose only emotion when the Templars chained his son in irons had been palpable relief. Hawke wished his mother had been brave, willing to run away with her son, instead of giving him up.

But wishes never changed the past. Wishes wouldn't bring her father back, or Bethany, or have Carver healthy and whole here in Kirkwall instead of with the Grey Wardens.

His fingers circled her wrist. "I would not change a thing about you," Anders said after a moment. "Not a thing. I never meant you to think otherwise."

Hawke swallowed, letting his words wash over her, knowing how much she needed to hear them. "I would not change you either," she whispered.

"No?" Anders said, somewhat in surprise. "You wouldn't get rid of Justice? He's still not pleased at how much time we spend together."

"But we do good work," Hawke protested, thinking of the hours Anders bounced ideas off of her for his manifesto. A surge of resentment towards the spirit swelled, but she pushed it away. Anders was Justice and Justice, Anders. Hawke traced the line of Anders' jaw with her fingertips, watching him close his eyes at her touch.

"I agree," Anders told her.

"You would not be you if he was not there," she said after a moment. "And I love _you,_ Justice and all."

"And I love you, even without experiencing the Circle," Anders said, kissing her forehead.

Hawke smiled and pulled Anders to her. Her fears quenched, now that they've spoken. Perhaps they did occasionally resent each other, for matters beyond their control.

But more important, they loved.

She would never doubt that.

Never.


End file.
